Sentimental Value
by Darkflares
Summary: When Starscream is severely injured and taken prisoner by the Autobots, will Megatron seize the opportunity to be rid of the schemer... or agree to a trade a game-changing weapon in exchange for his return?


**Author's Note:** I love the relationship between Magatron and Starscream. It's so ridiculously complicated, humorous, and just plain fun to watch. XD

Hope you enjoy this little one-shot, I've been working on it for a while now and just put the finishing touches on it today. :) Please R&R! ^_^

Prime-verse, AU-ish.

Rated T for safety and some robot violence.

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><p>Megatron struggled to filter the perpetual chitterings of Earth's native fauna from his audios, gritting his denta at the futility of it. He understood why the Autobots had chosen these coordinates as a meeting place-the remote locale and dense forestation were excellent cover from human detection-but he nonetheless felt his loathing for this planet grow with each passing klik. The organic chaos that surrounded him was like nothing found on Cybertron, and although he was familiar with Earth's geology and ecological infrastructure, it remained ever foreign and unpleasant. Every shadowy alcove brimmed with primitive, fleeting lifeforms, of lower mental function than even the <em>Insecticons <em>of his own world. Their tiny, meaningless doings filled him with irrational contempt...

Megatron seethed as he reminded himself of the reason behind this arrangement...

_Starscream._

_Always_ Starscream. The treacherous seeker had thwarted him once again... and this time, the fool had not even been _trying_ to do so.

It should have been a Decepticon victory... Three of the Autobots had suffered debilitating injuries, and Prime himself seemed poised to issue a retreat. But it was then that Wheeljack had spotted the ever-present chink in Megatron's armor: Starscream. The pompous jet had decided to rub salt in his enemies' wounds, circling back to deliver a last, spiteful round of fire from the air. Seizing the ripe opportunity, Wheeljack had overloaded his own weapon in a last ditch effort, and succeeded in sending a barrage of hyper-charged energy pulses skyward... where they struck their target dead-on. One wing aflame and smoke billowing from his fuselage, Starscream had plummeted shrieking to the Earth. He crashed-with almost comical precision-amongst the waiting Autobots, who had promptly taken him captive and disappeared into a well-timed ground bridge.

Megatron had little doubt that his whining lieutenant had eagerly spilled any useful intel he possessed within his first mega-cycle of captivity. The Autobots were hardly known for harsh interrogation, but Starscream was not one to take chances.

_I should think you would have learned by now, Starscream:_I_am far more skilled at meting out pain than_Prime_could_ever_be. _The warlord scowled deeply, wishing that the wretch was present to hear the threat aloud.

Several solar-cycles had passed since the ill-fated battle. The thought of Starscream squirming in the enemy's clutches, ruminating over whether or not he had been left for dead had served as a pleasant consolation to the Decepticon leader. By this time, though, his amusement had grown thin-just as it always did when he demeaned, beat, or in some other way humiliated the simpering mech. Thus, he had at last contacted Prime...

And what was the reason behind this meeting? Behind trying to recover a worthless traitor to the Decepticon cause...? The rationale that Megatron had fed to his underlings had been a weak one: that Starscream was too _valuable _a prisoner to leave in Autobot hands.

_Valuable_-the warlord nearly laughed aloud at the thought. Whatever strategic worth Starscream may have held was easily outweighed by his treachery and infantile thirst for power. There was no logical reason for this meeting-none at all... And yet here he was, all the same.

The hum of a forming ground-bridge earned his attention. Nearly every Autobot stationed on this planet had turned out for the meet-Prime himself, his medic, the two-wheeler, the scout, the Wrecker... The only absentees were Wheeljack and the human 'pets'. Prime emerged from the bridge last, carrying in his arms a pitiful piece of slag that Megatron scarcely recognized as Starscream.

The seeker's wings, normally so fidgety and expressive, hung dead And lifeless. They were tattered and pockmarked with plasma charring, having apparently taken the brunt of Wheeljack's assault. The rest of the jet's frame had fared little better: countless welds-neat but utilitarian, with no efforts made to mask the scars-decorated his body. Even his faceplates had suffered, and were littered messily with deep scratches and grooves.

But it these injuries were not that which seized the warlord's attention and rigidly held it. Rather, it was the pair of dark optics that stared blankly from the seeker's face, like spent coals in dead fire. Megatron felt his spark twist inexplicably, mesmerized and repulsed by the sight.

_Starscream... Extinguished at last?_

The attack had offlined him, then? Megatron knew that this development should please him... After all, a dead Starscream could not speak-could not simper and beg and throw away every scrap of intel he possessed in exchange for amnesty. Battle plans, _The_ _Nemesis_' blueprints, inventory of the Decepticons' resources and energon supplies, the locations of all of their mines and hidden installments... all were safe. Yet for no sane reason, the warlord's spark contorted painfully at the sight of the quiet, still frame...

Somehow, it had never seemed possible that the seeker was actually capable of offlining. His presence-and by extension, his scheming-must certainly be as eternal as time itself...

A subtle movement caught Megatron's attention, and to his grudging, irrational relief, he watched as Starscream twitched weakly in Optimus' arms and gave a low whine. His optics must have been deeply damaged-he was blind, at least for the time being-but he was alive.

Noticing the Decepticon leader's optics dwelling on the injured seeker, Ratchet broke in.

"Several of his optical components were damaged in the battle... They should be reparable, but I don't have access to the necessary resources to replace them," he began uncertainly, before continuing in a rawer tone: "No doubt _your_ medical bay is far better equipped, considering the number of clinics that fell victim to Decepticon raids in the last days of the war on Cybertron."

Ignoring the medic's jab, Megatron made a quick reassessment of his second-in-command's condition. Given the state of his wings, it was an easy guess that he wouldn't be flying for some time to come, nor did his patched-up legs show much promise of functioning in the near future. He also appeared to be delirious, clinging pitifully to the ridges of Optimus' chestplates, as if afraid the Autobot would drop him. The seeker's head darted erratically in an almost comical state of panic, his dark, blind optics scanning uselessly. Starscream's arm-mounted missiles had been removed, adding to his helpless appearance. The Autobots had not bothered to put any restraints on their captive; it was obvious to all that he was too frail and confused to put up anything resembling a fight.

In short: he was _useless_, completely and utterly. A quivering, pathetic lump of metal-of no military or strategic value of any kind... Any sane Decepticon would simply have thrown the wreck into a smelting pit and been done with it... and the Autobots knew this. They remained silent, tense, and obviously uncertain. They had no doubt assumed that once Megatron saw the enfeebled state of his second, he would call off the negotiations. After all, Megatron's bartering chip might very well turn the tide of the war... whereas Starscream would be nothing more than dead weight for a _long_ time to come.

"We have come as agreed upon, Megatron," Prime broke the silence diplomatically, his optics meeting the Decepticon's in a steady gaze.

Megatron returned the stare, his mind storming with conflict. The hush lingered uncomfortably between the opposing sides. Aside from Optimus, the Autobots looked as though they expected the Decepticon to open-fire on them. Their weapons were lowered, but their rigid postures gave away their readiness to defend themselves.

_I am a fool,_Megatron's meta coursed with self-loathing as he mentally debated with himself.

"I have the relic... Provided _he_ will pull through," the ex-gladiator hissed brusquely at last, nodding in Starscream's direction. He gave himself no time to think better of the decision... If nothing else, he would not appear wavering.

"He looks worse-off than he is... He was suffering, and rather... vocal. I induced stasis and injected him with a good deal of painkillers... He's just coming out of it now, and it's still in his systems. He'll be more lucid in a few mega-cycles," Ratchet assured him steadily.

Megatron released a slow, hissing ventilation, already feeling a sharp pang of regret.

"Very well."

The Decepticon leader pulled his bartering chip from subspace: the Immobilizer. A game-changing weapon in exchange for a treacherous, crippled piece of slag... His processors would require a diagnostic scan when he returned to _The_ _Nemesis_.

The warlord held the relic out, hilt-first, beckoning to Optimus with his free hand. The Autobot leader stepped slowly forward, walking with deliberate evenness so as not to jar his load. At last the two leaders faced one another, their eyes locking intently. Optimus attempted to lift Starscream away from him, but the seeker gave a soft shriek, his grip tightening around the larger mech's chassis. The Autobot gently pried the curled fingers from his plating, one by one. Truly, Megatron had never seen Starscream look quite so pathetic as now: clinging to Prime for dear spark and mewling pitifully as his fingers slipped from the rim of said Autobot's chestplates.

_He most likely thinks he _is_ heading for the smelting pits_, Megatron found satisfaction in this realization.

It was with great inner pain and much disgust that Megatron extended the Immobilizer's grip towards his old foe, indicating his acceptance of the trade. Optimus moved a step closer, resting his fingers for a moment on the weapon's handle before proceeding to gently arrange the injured Starscream into Megatron's arms. The ex-gladiator reached to support his quivering second-in-command, moving one arm to steady his back strut and slipping the other beneath his legs.

As the smaller mech came to rest fully against him, Megatron noted the weighted feel of the slender frame-the seeker's tanks had been filled to capacity. It surprised him that the Autobots would have spared what precious-little energon they had on a _prisoner_. But then, this was why the soft-sparked fools were losing the war: profitless compassion. With a bitter twinge, he realized that that was exactly the type of idiotic decision he himself had just succumbed to.

Optimus carefully allowed Starscream to slide free of him, and the flyer gave a startled yelp, his blind optics darting uselessly in fear. This pitiful sight only seemed to further cement the inequity of the trade, but Megatron said nothing, allowing the seeker to lean snugly into his chassis like a frightened sparkling. Optimus wrapped his now-freed right hand around the Immobilizer's hilt, and moved to take it. Megatron unhappily allowed this, his fingers tensing slightly before releasing the weapon. The exchange was done.

The warlord shifted his helm downwards and studied his second-in-command, a myriad of emotions flurrying through his meta: contempt, disgust, outrage, bitterness... but also, he realized reluctantly... relief. Relief that the scheming little flyer had not, in fact, vented his last. Relief that Starscream's life once again rested in his hands-for after all of their millennia spent as adversaries and allies alike, it did not seem fitting to Megatron that any but he would have the final say in the seeker's fate. Their 'bond' was unlike the brotherly ties of the Autobots, nor was it the stiff, forced arrangement of soldier and general. It was built of time, circumstance, battle, mutual-yet-grudging admiration, and even the paranoia born of constant treachery. It was a strange and complex relationship, but no less valid for it.

Starscream squirmed in his master's arms, confused and distressed. His injured wings shifted feebly, and Megatron caught sight of one of the patches on the right, his optics narrowing at what he saw. He took hold of the edge of the fidgeting appendage, causing the seeker to give a choked sob of pain. Feeling the wing struggling weakly to free itself, the warlord turned it over slowly to better examine the wound. The patch performed on it was terrible; welded metal was melted together with an incredibly fragile sensory cluster. Megatron's optics narrowed further... It was likely that Starscream had been in far less pain when his wounds were fresh-before the Autobot medic had worked on him. No wonder they had drugged him; the sight of the ruined sensors nearly caused Megatron himself to wince; the agony it must have caused Starscream was incredible. The wound would have to be reopened-made worse than before-to correct the damage. Even with his greatly limited knowledge of medicine, Megatron could see this. And no doubt Ratchet now saw it as well...

Looking up, Megatron saw that the medic had once again noticed his unvoiced thoughts. His optics shuttered briefly before he spoke.

"I... Was never trained to treat flyers... I did not account for how thin the plating was, nor the location of the sensors...," Ratchet seemed to cringe just slightly, and there was a genuine note of guilt in his words. Perhaps his past failures still chewed at him... Megatron's optics flickered just briefly to the Autobots' mute scout. The medic then continued, regaining the warlord's attentions: "I... didn't want to risk further damage by trying to correct my error."

Starscream let out a groggy whimper, prompting Megatron to release the wounded wing.

"Shut up, Starscream," Megatron spoke lowly, but despite the harshness of the words, his tone was almost consoling. It was the most he would offer the miserable seeker, at any rate.

Starscream stiffened momentarily at the voice. Delirious as he was, the familiarity of it must have either soothed or terrified him, and he quieted. His fingers grasped blindly for support, and his right hand clasped at his master's shoulder desperately. In his panic, the seeker dug his sharp talons into the plating, his claws sinking into Megatron's arm. Energon bubbled to the surface, seeping around the spindly fingers.

Megatron saw the Autobots flinch visibly, no doubt expecting him to yank the claws from his arm; to strike the helpless mech for his insolence... Instead, he merely gritted his denta and gave an infuriated hiss, making no move to pull the talons from his armor. There would be no sport in tormenting Starscream while he was in this condition...

The Autobots looked on, stunned at his patience.

Slowly wrapping his fingers around Starscream's chin, the warlord tilted the seeker's head back to examine his blind optics. The smaller mech feebly attempted to wriggle free, but Megatron easily kept him still. One optic was shattered, and only the jagged edges of the lens remained; the other bore a deep crack. There were obviously much deeper damages, as well... But Megatron had none of the expertise needed to diagnose these. In any event, optical components were very unique to each individual, and thus more difficult to replace than a limb or servo. It would take a good deal of time to engineer matching parts-time during which the panicked, crippled Starscream would be nothing more than a drain on resources...

_Those who are weaker than their enemies die._ Megatron had learned this hard lesson-had seen it reaffirmed time-and-again. In the slavery of the mines... In the gladiatorial pits... In war. Yet now his steely certainty wavered; the idea seemed suddenly unacceptable... And the warlord was disgusted with himself for thinking so.

"We are done here, Prime," he growled lowly, maneuvering one hand to tap at his comm unit, signaling Soundwave for a bridge.

The mech then entered the resulting portal, carrying Starscream awkwardly, yet with an unpracticed gentleness.

...

In a blink, the bridge dissipated, swallowing up the outlines of the two Decepticons. Optimus studied the space where they had been for just a moment, then turned to rejoin his companions. A flicker of hope flared in his spark-hope that perhaps Megatronus was not so far gone as he had once believed.

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Thanks for reading! Reviews are loved greatly!


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